Z threw one hell of a tantrum at nap time this afternoon. Apparently limiting her to merely three library books was completely unacceptable. When I came back and offered one more book, she triple freaked out--crying, throwing herself on the bed and on the floor, hugging me and pushing me, all the while screaming "No one book. All the books!"
It took her a full half an hour to realize I wasn't budging. I read her one last book and she closed her eyes.
Why, oh why do they have to make life so difficult? So dramatic? Most of us grown-ups would give our right arm for a daily siesta.
